


John Snow and Joseph Bazalgette

by Snow_baguette



Category: John Snow and Joseph Bazalgette
Genre: Alternate History, Fluff, Gay, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pining, Victorian, snazalgette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_baguette/pseuds/Snow_baguette
Summary: Much-needed explanation: I ship John Snow (not the Game of Thrones one, the one that discovered cholera was water-borne and all that good stuff) and Joseph Bazalgette (guy who built the London sewers).This started ironically. Now I'm invested.Actual chapter description thing:One letter from Joseph turns John's world upside down. And he's beginning to discover what that means.
Relationships: John Snow/Joseph Bazalgette
Comments: 15
Kudos: 3





	1. Snazalgette

**Author's Note:**

> For suspense, and also additional chaos, their ship name is Snazalgette. you are welcome. let us begin.

1854.

_Dear Mister Snow,_

_I doubt you know of me, but I have heard rumours of what you are seeking to research in Soho. I must admit, I am intrigued. To question the widespread belief that cholera is caused by bad air when it is so deep-rooted in the public’s knowledge…you fascinate me, John Snow._

_I write to you in the hope that you will agree to meet me. I’d love to hear about your progress and perhaps even be of assistance in your investigation._

_If you do know of me, I doubt you’ve heard good things. I’ve been working on plans for the reconstruction of the London sewers for years now, but have been unable to progress without the politicians’ investment. The press finds this hilarious, of course._

_It had been my intention to create these sewers to clear the air of miasma, but now that you’ve questioned this theory, I find myself unable to ignore the possibility that cholera could have a different cause. I need answers. Answers you and I can find._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Joseph Bazalgette_.

Skimming over the curls of Joseph’s eloquent handwriting, John Snow drew his brow. He was squinting in the dim candlelight, unaware of how dark it had grown. He’d been plotting cases of cholera—the mysterious disease that plagued Britain—for hours now.

The only mail John had been receiving recently were replies from the relatives of recently deceased cholera victims. He’d asked hundreds of survivors questions about the events leading up to the deaths of their loved ones, anywhere from who they had seen to what they were eating, and yet little connections had been made as of yet.

All in all, it was safe to say John had not been expecting a letter from Joseph Bazalgette, proposing their alliance in tackling the cause of cholera.

John took a deep breath, tracing his finger over the indents on the letter where ink had been spilled.

He slammed the paper onto his cramped desk, disregarding it.

It was a joke. Likely a reporter trying to get a headline out of him. They always were mocking his perseverance to disprove the theory of miasma—foul-smelling air that caused disease.

He closed the door behind him, and refused to think about it for a week.

***

John, being more stubborn that he’d like to admit, waited until the morning after these seven days expired to rescue the letter from his stack of paper.

“Joseph Bazalgette,” whispered John, with a sigh.

This was no trick; a reporter wouldn’t have put such thought into feigning a letter. Especially not a letter from Joseph Bazalgette. John had heard of how the press crucified the man, even though is was Parliament who deserved to be ridiculed for refusing to let him start work on the sewers.

In a way, this letter was so unconvincing that it had to be honest.

He held it between his thumb and index finger, raising it like a looking glass. If it had been, he would have seen the hint of a smile playing on his lips as he reread the word ‘fascinate’.


	2. Snazalgette: the Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *they met*
> 
> very description i know
> 
> i promise i take my writing seriously

Joseph rubbed his eyes. The sunrise split through the curtains, scattering across the small living room. He stood and promptly folded the blanket, putting it back in its place behind the cushion.

“Morning, Maria,” he greeted warmly, as a woman knocked on the door.

Maria entered, holding out an envelope. “Mail for you.”

Joseph took it with a grateful nod, assuming it to be another recommendation from the public. The ideas for sewer designs were interesting, but had little use. The problem wasn’t Joseph’s ability to accurately design the plans; the problem was Parliament and their lack of motivation to invest in the sewers.

Joseph knew this, and yet found himself redesigning the plans again and again, in the hope that one day they wouldn’t be rejected.

Maria asked, “Will you be working all day again? The children miss your company.”

Joseph sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. “I’m trying. I just want to perfect these designs. Maybe then Parliament will see the sewers as worthy of investment.”

“No,” corrected Maria, “you’re just impatient.”

“I want to do everything I can. I know I have less time for the children, but I fear for them in these times. I want to help keep them safe.”

Maria flinched, though it wasn’t obvious enough for Joseph to notice. “There isn’t miasma in this town,” she said, though her words suddenly sounded weak. “The children won’t fall victim to cholera.”

Joseph ran his hand through his dark hair. “What I fear is that we understand this disease even less than we think we do. I fear that we have no control over who it takes.” He blinked, as if thrown awake from a trance. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t frighten me.” Maria tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Once again, you’re just impatient that you haven’t heard back from your letter to John Snow.”

Joseph’s face lit up, his eyes immediately brighter. Thoughtfully, he examined the envelope in his hand. “I wonder…” he muttered, tugging it open with precision. He exclaimed with delight as his eyes scanned over the letter inside.

Maria chuckled. “I’ll be upstairs, Joseph.”

Joseph’s eyes widened as he looked up from reading. “I’m meeting him today. My God, I woke up late. If I hurry I can make it!” He made for the door, but Maria stopped him.

“I feel it would be cruel of me to not point out that you’re still wearing your nightshirt.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll certainly make an impression.”

“Yes, but not quite the impression I’m looking to make.”

Maria couldn’t help a snigger. 

“I’ll have to leave behind my coats if I want to be on time.”

“How scandalous of you.”

“I value punctuality over logic, Maria!” Joseph cried, already skipping up the stairs.

Joseph rushed through the house, waving through the window to the children playing outside, and into the main bedroom. He swerved around the double bed, flinging open the closet doors with haste. The clothes he selected—black trousers, white shirt, shiny shoes—were his usual daytime attire, minus a waistcoat and frock coat.

Soon enough, he was falling out of the doorway—still tugging on his right shoe. He checked his pocket watch.

Late.

Joseph despised being late.

As he was swallowed by the smog of the city, he fought to clear his throat. Maria was right that they were lucky to live in a good town, but it was far from perfect.

On the way, Joseph couldn’t help analysing the letter Mister Snow had written. His writing was scruffy but surprisingly easy to follow along. As for the letter itself, its wording was kind but direct. It had given little away, only stating a place and a time for their meeting.

Joseph checked the time again. He found himself walking so quickly that he was collecting stares from those he passed. Or perhaps it was because it was deemed socially unacceptable to go out without a minimum of three layers of clothing on.

Oh well. Let them stare—he was on his way to meet someone much more important. Hopefully, John would appreciate the social sacrifice Joseph had made in order to make it to their meeting.

When he reached the park that the letter had stated, Joseph scanned the benches. There were two other men here—one’s face concealed by a newspaper, the other watching the clouds pass by with piercing blue eyes. The first man lowered his newspaper, tucked it under his arm and left, but it didn’t matter. Joseph already knew that it was the other man that he was looking for.

John Snow was watching the sky softly, as if speaking to it in a language only the two of them could understand. He had a habit of tapping his foot in different directions—left and right, left and right, left and right—that reminded Joseph of the way he had worded his letter. Not quite blunt, not quite gentle.

John got up from the bench when he noticed Joseph approaching. As they shook hands and their eyes met, Joseph’s breath was stolen from him.

He introduced himself, “Joseph.”

“John,” John Snow replied, as a smile spread across his face.

 _What now?_ Joseph searched his mind, refusing a thousand different conversation points before remembering what they were there for.

John beat him to it. “Do you still want to be a part of my investigation?”

“Yes, yes definitely.”

“How do I know if I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” Joseph said, throat dry.

“If I share the details of my investigation with you, how do I know you’re not going to take the theory elsewhere—or to the press?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You don’t know me, Mister Bazalgette.”

“I want to know you.”

The words were slipping out of Joseph’s mouth before he could think about them—about what they meant.

John paused, and then he said, “I think I’m going to trust you.”

“Why?”

John’s glacial blue eyes shimmered. “I suppose because I like you, Mister Bazalgette.”

“I said you can call me Joseph.”

“Hm. No, I think I’ll call you Joe.” Then John spun around, setting off to leave the park. “Are you busy today, Joe?”

“I can spare a day.”

“Then follow me.”


	3. Snazalgette Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's just 19th century social reformers subtly flirting

Even though Soho was only a few streets away, John found he couldn’t keep his clumsiness concealed for more than nine minutes—when he had a near-miss with a carriage. Joseph caught him by the arm, ensuring he was out of harm’s way, but couldn’t help finding the whole thing a little amusing. He had gotten a hold of his laughter by the time they reached the street John was seeking: Broad Street.

It fell eerily quiet.

The air was acid—putrid, eye-watering, undiluted evil. If they were wrong, if this investigation proved to be all for nothing, then this street was the very definition of miasmic.

And being here, breathing this air, standing by John’s side, could kill him.

Joseph didn’t want to die.

What would the children be told? That is, if they even noticed his absence after all the months he’d spent working. More than any other fate, Joseph feared being just another empty name swept up in the list of deaths.

He felt unsteady, his heart rate quickening and head swimming.

One look at John and it was if he’d found solid ground again. He trusted John and he trusted John’s research. His gut told him that something amazing was going to come from this investigation.

It could have been his imagination, but Joseph felt the slightest brush of John’s hand next to his. It was gone in an instant: the moment taken away with the breeze.

John slowed as they walked through the slim street, so he could point out the houses as he spoke of them. “The families in these houses all had cholera outbreaks. But all of these houses—” He gestured to houses not so far away. “Didn’t.”

Joseph’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “This is curious.”

“Exactly. They all breathe the same air. If cholera was caused by ‘miasma of the atmosphere’, as they say, every one of these houses would’ve fallen victim to the disease.”

“So, there must be some other connection.”

“Something that these houses have in common, but these houses do not.” John was animated as he spoke, not enjoying the talk about such suffering but grateful to have someone to listen to his thought process.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Joseph.

“I’ve questioned some of the relatives of the deceased victims, but nothing stands out to me yet.” He’d spent so long staring at records that he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for anymore.

“What of the houses that didn’t get cholera?” Joseph asked. “Perhaps we should question those households, to see what might be different about their lifestyle to the houses that did get cholera.”

“Joe, I think you might just be onto something.”

John had to confess: he’d had his doubts about Joseph. But John had found himself unable to ignore the letter he’d received.

It was perplexing. He hadn’t been expecting to take on the man as a partner in his investigation. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the sparks that he felt deep in his heart when they’d shaken hands. And he definitely hadn’t been expecting to feel this connection with him—a magnetising one that kept drawing his attention back to Joseph. Walking beside him, hopping up onto the pavement, swinging his hands back and forth with each stride.

It seemed that John couldn’t predict anything when it came to Joseph. He was turning his life upside down, and John was in no rush to fix it.

***

They visited the unaffected houses with a solemnness hanging above their heads. These people may not have suffered from cholera themselves, but they’d lost friends and loved-ones to the disease.

John asked the questions—everything from where they worked to what they were eating—and made notes on a little slip of paper. “I don’t leave the house without paper and my fountain pen,” he explained, to answer Joseph’s quizzical glance.

A lot of people’s pride still didn’t allow them to doubt the theory of miasma, so some doors were slammed in their faces when they began to explain their investigation. John made sure to thank those that were willing to participate.

They’d gathered a fair amount of research within the hour, so headed to John’s house to begin comparing it with the research conducted about the cholera victims.

When they arrived, John led the way to his desk. The very desk where he’d put the letter and then picked it back up again. Brushing aside documents and crumpled paper, John said, “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I didn’t think I’d be having visitors.”

“I’m not one to judge,” said Joseph. “A little imperfection shows character.”

John wanted to say how beautiful Joe’s words were, but he held his tongue.

A breath rattled through his lungs. Why was he thinking like this? What exactly _was_ he thinking? His head felt thick. Suddenly, everything was too much.

Whatever thoughts he’d been having, they ended here. It was better this way.

No. There _was_ no other way.


	4. Snazalgette: it goes on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19th century gay denial and internal 'no homo', followed by pining, which is then followed by 'gay????'

By the time they had finished flicking through the research John had done so far, it was noon.

Joseph asked, “Should we get some lunch?”

“Okay.”

“I know a place not far from here,” he said, leading the way.

John trailed behind him, his spirits low for reasons he was struggling to pick apart, as Joseph talked about the pies his friend served. John couldn’t even string together a reply. He didn’t understand why he was finding it so hard to hold back these thoughts.

He gave a feeble smile in reply to something he hadn’t heard, but there was hurt in Joseph’s dense eyes.

Soon, they arrived at their destination: a small tavern located not too far from the Soho brewery. Inside, there was room for just a couple of places to sit.

Joseph greeted a friend from behind the counter—Maria, he called her—and she gave a small wave in their direction before resuming pouring drinks.

***

John felt oddly conscious of making eye contact with Joseph as they sat down to eat. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the beer before him.

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. It felt like he was standing in quicksand, but he didn’t want to get away from it. Not really, despite what he tried to tell himself.

Having finished eating, Joseph reached for his cup of water.

Something stirred in John’s heart like dynamite, and before he knew what he was doing he had lurched forwards and flung the cup to the floor with a single strike. Water pooled across the floorboards as everyone turned.

Why did he do that?

John froze, questions gripping his mind in an iron vice. He clamped his eyes tightly shut, desperate for peace. What felt like a lifetime later, John brought himself back to the present. He apologised profusely to Maria and helped her clear up the worst of the spillage.

“Please, don’t worry about it,” she insisted.

Joseph gave John a puzzled look as he turned to him. “John, is everything okay?” he inquired, concern mapped across his face.

“Everything is fine.”

Joseph wasn’t remotely convinced. There was no heart in John’s words, not like there had been that morning. Despite knowing that everything was not, in fact, ‘fine’, Joseph forced himself to go along with it. It wasn’t his place to do anything else. He wanted it to be his place, but it wasn’t.

As they left the tavern, Joseph didn’t ask what had happened back there. Instead, he decided to lighten the mood.

“You appear to be getting clumsier,” he teased. “I can’t say I know anyone else who managed to accidentally throw another person’s drink onto the floor.”

“You better not. I like having a reputation.”

It was like they’d known each other for years, but an unspeakable barrier was building up between them. A new brick was added every time their eyes met, every time the gap between their hands closed, every time one or the other felt something that they hadn’t been expecting.

Maybe it would be better to walk away. There was something happening between them, but how was Joseph supposed to know whether or not it was worth fighting for?

There was daylight left still, but John decided it would be best if they went home. He turned to walk down his street without another word.

“Wait,” Joseph said, and he caught John’s hand before he could realise what he was doing.

John didn’t flinch. Instead, he gently pulled his hand away. It was as if it had never happened. John’s expression gave away nothing. But his eyes, glittering in the sunset, said something else.

Joseph waited, heart racing and survival instincts heightened.

Then, slowly, John looked around. The streets were deserted—no one had seen, thank god. It was quiet. John’s eyes flitted up to the auburn sky.

“Beautiful,” Joseph whispered, following the other man’s gaze.

John looked at him. “Not here,” he breathed, so softly that Joseph could have imagined the words. Except, he didn’t.

And John turned to leave once more.

“John!” called Joseph, not caring who heard.

His back to Joseph, John shut his eyes. An ice-age dragged by, bitter and torturous. Then he said, “Same time tomorrow?”

Joseph’s heart skipped a beat. “Same place?” he asked, giddy with relief that he hadn’t ruined everything.

Still facing away from Joseph, John nodded. “I’ll see you there, Joe.”

Then he was gone.


	5. Snazalgette: we're still here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was listening to a 'heather x a thousand years x before you go' mashup while i was writing this. so,,, nothing more needs to be said.

Joseph’s face broke out into a grin as he spun around in a small relieved circle—a sort of happy dance—before making his way back home.

When he skipped through the front door, he put his shoes quietly aside and sped through the corridors to the main bedroom.

“Maria?” he whispered, careful not the wake the children.

A mildly irritated Maria opened the door a moment later. She rubbed her eyes—strained from reading—and mumbled, “What, Joseph? What could you possibly—”

“John agreed to let me be his partner in the investigation!” Joseph paused. “I think.” Maria blinked in bewilderment. “He didn’t say that we were partners _exactly_ but he seems to be getting attached to me, so I think he wants me to stick around.”

“That’s wonderful, Joseph,” said Maria, her voice hushed but supportive. “Did you have a good day with him?”

“It was amazing,” he reminisced, and went on to explain how he’d already gotten to help with some research.

Patiently, Maria listened. She was happy that Joseph had gotten this chance, but there was a knot in her stomach as she watched him talk about John. She felt fear.

When Joseph had talked himself out of words, Maria pulled him into a tight hug. She smiled for just a moment longer before she closed her door.

Stepping as lightly as possible, Joseph crept into one of the children’s rooms. He whispered goodnight to them, about to move onto the next room when Theresa opened her eyes. She was four years old, the second youngest, and missed her father when he was busy with work. Joseph kissed her on the top of her head.

“Now, get some sleep,” he said, and waited until she’d settled down before he left the room.

When he’d said goodnight to all of the children, he decided to go to sleep himself.

 _Tomorrow will be another amazing day_ , he thought, _because I get to see him again._

***

John slammed the door behind him. He was barely breathing. He fell into his study, staring at the desk where he’d put down that wonderful, deadly letter. He looked at the floor, where Joseph had been standing just hours before.

He felt his head swell. This was too much. He wanted answers, but he didn’t know if he was ready to accept what they would reveal.

The world swayed as he lunged towards the desk. He pushed paper aside, tore pages of inconclusive data, flung books and reports into the air. Shreds of unanswered questions rained down on the small room, tangling in his hair and mocking him ruthlessly.

John wanted to decide that this was all a mistake. John wanted to forget about his research and close his eyes and leave this all behind. John wanted to disappear without a goodbye, because that would be the hardest part of it all. But this only was the easy route.

The hard route was staying, and facing the truth John wouldn’t let himself believe.

And yet, he was beginning to think that there was something worth staying for.

Mentally exhausted, John collapsed into the chair. The room was destroyed, like something crazed and wild had torn through it.

His head fell into his hands as he set his thoughts free. An icy tear fell down his face, slipping through his fingers and dropping onto the floor.

And just like that, he knew.

Part of him wanted to take it back. He didn’t want this realisation. He didn’t want this pain. He didn’t want this urge to scream the contents of his mind into the sky, and if the clouds shattered then so _be_ it.

John was living in a world that was built against him, everything from the foundations to the cracked pillars.

Because John wanted to think of this man in a way that would never be possible.


	6. Snazalgette: personally i'm surprised i haven't abandoned this yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gay panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very aware that they only met one day prior to this but i don't care so please let me have my 19th century gay social reformer love story.
> 
> (also: my second favourite word is now frolicsome.)

The next day, John spent a moment thinking. His mind felt still, peaceful.

_I’m not going anywhere_ , he thought to himself. _I’m not going anywhere, Joe_.

John set off for the park with a spring in his step. _Whatever happens, happens_ , he told himself.

This time, Joseph was already waiting for him. “John,” he called, with an excited wave.

John grinned. “There you are.”

“Here I am.”

Immediately, Joseph knew that something had changed. John looked happy. Free.

Neither knew who had initiated it, but they were stood closer to each other than what was strictly necessary.

“I see you’re wearing coats today,” said John.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say something yesterday.”

“I was quite liking the silent rebellion against society.”

“One could get a reputation acting like that,” Joseph reminded.

John locked eyes with Joseph before he spoke. “I don’t take you for the kind of man who gives a damn about what people think about him, Joe.”

Joseph regarded the comment with a warm smile, but he couldn’t help thinking, _I care what you think of me_.

***

Later, they were back at John’s house. He’d sacrificed some time that morning to put the study back together, but it wasn’t difficult to tell that something had happened.

John had gone to fetch a chair from another room, so Joseph traced his finger over the edge of the wooden desk. He could picture John sat here, his eyes illuminated as he scribbled theories down onto paper.

Placing this fond image aside in his mind, Joseph looked closer at the desk.

The floor beneath the chair was splintered. The reports sat on top of the desk were crumpled, though there had been clear effort to smooth them out again. The corner of the desk was dented, as if someone had kicked it in a moment of blind frustration.

Joseph’s heart ached at the thought of something bringing John, a man so kind and gentle, to such anger.

Soft footsteps approached. Joseph stepped back with his hand dropping to his side, but John was already in the room. Quietly, John placed the chair was carrying beside the desk.

Joseph cleared his throat. “I was just…uh…admiring your desk.” He brushed wavy hair out of his face.

“It’s wood.”

“It’s very nice wood.”

Sceptically, John tilted his head. “It’s average wood, at best.”

“No, it’s far from average.” Joseph knocked on the desk twice to prove his point. He cleared his throat awkwardly and rocked back and forth on his heels.

“I got it from a pawnbroker.”

“Which one?”

“Joe,” said John, in a frolicsome manner, “how about we take a break and go there?”

Joseph’s eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise. “I’d love to.”

***

The pawnbroker’s in question was a sturdy little building, bursting with everything from jewellery to clothing, to furniture. No one was ever quite sure who owned the building, because the same person was never behind the counter twice.

On this afternoon, there was a woman with short black hair running the place. As they entered, she waved at them and busied herself by shuffling some cards on the counter.

Joseph swerved through the maze of a store, immediately drawn towards the most chaotic section of the room—a cosy little corner packed with patterned sofas and shelving units. If John hadn’t hurried after him, he might have lost him.

John slipped in between a bookshelf and desk to catch up with Joseph, his eyes widening as he saw the piles of old books stacked upon the sofa that made up one of the walls of their little den. He’d hopped up onto a wooden chair and rescued the book on the top of the pile before Joseph could get his words out to ask if he wanted a hand.

They both dropped on the floor, fully aware of the fact that they were quite literally surrounded by furniture to choose from, and Joseph watched as John brushed his fingers along the pages of the book. It was stained with age, but John didn’t seem to mind.

Mesmerised by John’s smile, Joseph asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“This book,” said John. “Not only can it tell the story printed on its pages, but it can tell a thousand other stories about the people it’s been picked up by. Where it got taken, what the people thought of the book, who they gave the book to when they didn’t want it anymore.”

Joseph nodded eagerly, imploring John to go on.

“Old books hold so much meaning. I hope that one day I can do something as meaningful as even one page in this book.”

_You will_ , thought Joseph.

John gazed down at the maroon cover one last time before he set it back on the shelf. Assuming he was ready to leave, Joseph suggested they get back to their research.

“Joe, wait,” whispered John. His arctic eyes twinkled in the dim lighting.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” John whispered. “That’s just it. Absolutely nothing about being sat here with you feels wrong.”

“What are you saying, John?” Joseph could barely breathe; his throat was tight, his air was hollow, his heart was humming with fear, hope…and love.

“When you talk, I never want you to stop. When you laugh, I feel like I’m flying. When you leave, I think about you.” John brushed his hand across Joseph’s jawline, prepared for whatever reaction he might have. “I’m saying that inconceivably, unexplainably, undeniably, I love you, Joseph Bazalgette.”

“Oh,” uttered Joseph. He touched John’s hand and moved it away from his face. John waited, happy to give Joseph a moment to absorb everything.

But Joseph didn’t need a moment. He was already certain, and had been since the first time he noticed how he felt when he was with John.

Joseph tangled his fingers with John’s, moved closer and drew him into a tender, heartfelt kiss.

When they pulled apart, Joseph, unable to stop smiling, whispered, “I love you, too.” He helped John to his feet before adding, “Are we actually going to buy anything?”

“Good question, my love.”

“Okay, now I need to buy you something,” said Joseph, throwing his hands into the air.

John blinked. “What did I do?”

“You smiled.”

“Should I…not smile?”

“No, keep smiling!” insisted Joseph.

“I don’t want to bankrupt you, Joe.”

“You’re worth it.” Then he slipped out of the corner and disappeared from sight.

By the time John had found his way back to the counter, Joseph was already waiting for him with a paper bag in hand. He refused to let John see the contents of the bag, tucking it away into his coat pocket without revealing anything further.

“It’s for another day,” Joseph said.

An uncrushable spring in their step, the two walked back to John’s house—where they continued their investigation.

“I think I’ll mark some more data on this,” John said, taking out the map he’d begun plotting cholera cases on. He’d given up with it when there seemed to be nothing more to find out from it, but today had given him newfound resilience.

When Joseph had to leave, he hugged John as if he was all that mattered in the world. As if Joseph was scared to let him go. As if he was scared that it was too late to confess his secret without ruining everything.


	7. Snazalgette: *creative name here*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh...i got nothing

They met up every day for weeks. There wasn’t a lot of progress with the investigation, but John refused to get downhearted about it. They were going to make a real difference—he just knew it. They only needed patience.

***

One evening, John was strolling down the streets of London. It was peculiar; flashes of memories with Joseph were playing over and over in his head. He was missing something.

Little did he know, he was missing more than one something. Both of which he’d find out about before the night was done.

_Smiling at the signature at the end of the letter Joseph had sent him. Agonising over whether or not to send a letter back._

_Shaking Joseph’s hand, and looking into his eyes for the first time._

_Walking towards Broad Street with him. The moment when he could practically hear Joseph’s doubts, but Joseph overcame them and chose to put his trust in John._

_Gathering information about the unaffected streets, and comparing the research._

Fog stirred around John as he arrived back at his house opened the door. He went straight to his study and furrowed his brow at the map pinned up on the wall. Placing a finger on houses that had been infected, he followed the spread of cholera around Broad Street. There were a few outliers—one being a woman and her daughter who’d moved out of Soho years before they'd caught cholera.

John hadn’t had a chance to open the letter from the woman’s son yet, so he dug it out of his pile and scanned over it with determination. He had answered all of John’s questions in the letter, but only one paragraph stood out to him.

“Wait,” John whispered, tripping over his own legs to get back to the map. The letter slipped back onto his desk as he followed the pattern of unaffected houses around the map. With a pencil, he scribbled over the brewery on the map. Then he marked up the houses that the brewery workers lived in.

When John stepped back, the pencil fell through his fingers and hit the floor with an ear-shattering clatter.

The people unaffected by cholera were the brewery workers, who drank nothing but beer.

The affected houses were marked in fountain pen. They surrounded the Broad Street water pump like vultures around a carcass. Even though the woman and her daughter no longer lived near the pump, the son wrote that his mother had ‘developed such a taste’ for the water that she would send for bottles of it every morning. Both her and her daughter had drunk the water, and died from cholera just two days after.

It was in the water.

John cursed venomously, collapsing to the floor. “It’s in the water.”

All this time… All this research… All this work…

And it had been right in front of him.

_Knocking Joseph’s cup of water to the floor._

Some part of him had known, or at least suspected, this entire time. But he couldn’t dwell on how many lives could have been saved if they had figured it out sooner. He couldn’t.

What mattered is that he knew the cause, and now all there was to do was focus on fixing it.

John tore out a piece of paper and wrote faster than he’d thought possible. He wrote an urgent demand to the local government for the Broad Street pump handle to be removed.

“Utmost importance,” he read out to himself as he wrote, thoughts flying a million miles an hour to keep up with his hand.

When the letter had been finished and proofread, he scribbled on an envelope, stamped it, and hurtled into the darkness towards the nearest mailbox.

The first of the night’s two unknowns had been revealed.

Time for the second.


	8. Snazalgette: the Foreboding starts to make sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so maybe it's just...a lil angsty...

The letter posted, John sprinted for Joseph’s house.

His heart was in his chest, its rhythm quickening with each connection of his foot to the ground.

He’d done it! He’d actually done it. The investigation was a success.

When he reached Joseph’s house, John knocked on the door three times. He’d seen the exterior of Joseph’s house lots of times, but never the interior. Joseph would always hug him—if there weren’t people around—then say goodbye and close the door behind him. The outside of Joseph’s house looked different tonight. Almost menacing.

John assumed it was down to the importance of the discovery he’d made. He told himself it was because he was nervous. He reassured himself that the pit in his stomach was just because of the discovery.

It wasn’t.

When the door opened, John started explaining everything before he could even see who was standing in front of him.

“We have solid proof, with the brewery workers being unaffected because they never drink the water. And there’s the case of a woman who had Broad Street pump water sent to her. She doesn’t live in Soho anymore but her and her daughter drank the water and died of cholera in just days. Joe…” John trailed off as he realised he wasn’t, in fact, talking to Joseph.

“Can I help you?” asked the woman in the doorway. John recognised her from the tavern, when Joseph had introduced her as his 'friend, Maria’.

John was quiet.

“Are you looking for Joseph?” Maria asked.

He was about to nod, when a small girl ran past from behind the woman. An older boy followed her, screaming with laughter. The child swerved to a stop when he saw John to ask Maria, “Mother, who is that?”

Joseph walked into John’s view, grinning and attempting to round the children upstairs.

Then he saw John. His eyes said all that John needed to hear. Every question had already been answered.

“No, I’m not,” John answered Joseph’s wife, with a polite smile. “I’m not looking for who I thought I was.”

Joseph moved for the door. “Excuse me, Maria,” he said, voice troubled as he tried to slip past in time.

But John was already out of sight.


	9. Snazalgette: they sit on a wall and talk about their Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph: if the world was ending…you’d come over, right?  
> John: no.  
> Joseph: :,(  
> John: goddammit you have five minutes.

That couldn’t be it. Joseph would never forgive himself if he lost what they had. Maybe it was too late, but he had to try.

He stared at John’s door, barely able to pick it out in the thick blanket of night. It was anything but comforting.

“John,” he whispered, hoping he hadn’t gone to bed in the time it had taken for Joseph to run after him.

He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and knocked gently.

“Go home,” a voice said. It sounded like John, but at the same time it sounded nothing like him. His tone was weighted like never before, and hearing the hurt in his words hit Joseph like a rock to the skull.

“Please talk to me.” Joseph touched the door, as if it were a wall of glass separating them from each other. It wasn’t, of course. No. It was Joseph that had done this, that had divided them like this.

But the door opened, very slowly.

John opened it, with eyes like extinguishing blue flames. “It’s late,” was all he said. _So, get it over with_ , Joseph could fill in.

His world was on a tipping point. If he couldn’t catch it, it would shatter ruthlessly.

Joseph had so much to say, but he couldn’t find the right words.

“You’re married,” John said. “You have children.”

“No,” Joseph began.

“I don’t see what there is to talk about. Nothing you say will change the fact that it’s true.” John looked exhausted. This was breaking him. And that only put Joseph in more pain.

“Yes, I’m married,” said Joseph, knowing John needed clarity more than anything else right now. “And the children…”

“How many?”

“Five.”

“You didn’t tell me.” John gathered his courage and met Joseph’s eyes. “This was a mistake. Your wife doesn’t deserve to be lied to like that.”

“Maria and I…she and I…”

John looked away.

“No, John, let me explain—”

“I think you should leave, Mister Bazalgette,” John uttered: a dagger direct to Joseph’s heart.

“John, please, it isn’t my place to speak for her.”

“Thank you,” said Maria, appearing behind Joseph. She looked at John. “I had to fetch one of the neighbours to watch the children.” She smiled. “But I’m here now.”

She swallowed. Whatever she was about to say, she clearly wasn’t used to saying it out loud.

“Joseph and I have never loved each other. I wouldn’t love a man in that way. Our marriage was an arrangement we agreed upon to give some orphans a home. We take the children in as if they’re our own.”

“What do the children think?” asked John.

“They know that, secretly, Joseph and I are nothing more than friends. But we can’t risk them knowing about who we do and don’t love.” Maria paused, stepping towards John so that only he could hear her. “Joseph shouldn’t have hidden this from you until now, but he didn’t want to say anything without my permission.” She paused, to make sure her words held meaning. “He cares about you. I see it in his eyes. It’s your choice, but it seems a shame to let a spark like that die out.”

Maria left the two alone, patting Joseph’s shoulder in the way old friends do.

“Walk with me?” John asked.

“Of course.”

The reddening leaves shifted in the night-time breeze, waving as Joseph and John passed. The air smelt smoky and familiar, hinting to the arrival of autumn.

After a little while, John spoke. “I hadn’t thought about it a lot, before now.”

“About us?”

“Yes.”

Joseph had felt himself throw away reason and logic the second John came into his life, so he supposed he hadn’t thought too much into it either.

John stopped in a quiet alleyway, jumping up onto a brick wall that was intended to be a fence. Joseph joined him.

“Why does it have to be like this?” John couldn’t make eye contact as he said it.

Joseph knew what he meant, but asked anyway, “John, what are you talking about?”

“About how we’d never be able to get married, even if you weren’t married to Maria. I’m talking about how we will never be able to be free with our love. I’ll never be able to touch your hand without fearing for watchful eyes. I hate that it has to be like this.”

“I understand,” said Joseph. He swallowed. “It’s too hard. I understand.”

“Let me finish, Joe.” Hope was returned to Joseph like a thunderstorm after a drought. “Our situation isn’t easy, but talking to you is easy. Being with you is easy. It may never be safe for us to show our love freely, but I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you.”

“You should be mad at me for not telling you sooner.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be mad.” Joseph hung his head.

“You shouldn’t have kept it from me,” agreed John. “Were you intending to tell me?”

“Yes,” said Joseph, “yes, of course I was going to tell you. I really mean that, John. I wasn’t sure how to explain without making Maria feel like she had to say something. But I won’t make excuses.”

“I know now,” said John. His voice softened. “And you’re still the Joe I fell in love with.” He rested his head in Joseph’s shoulder, as if to say, _We’re okay_.

Joseph asked, “So, what happens now?”

John launched to his feet as he remembered the discovery. “Cholera!” he exclaimed.

“Hopefully not,” said Joseph, frowning.

“No, no, the reason I came to see you at this painfully small hour.” John checked again to see if it was safe before he took Joseph’s hand and pulled him to his feet. As they walked back home, John explained everything about his discovery, the evidence and the letter he’d sent to the community leaders.

When it was time for them to go down their separate streets, the two stopped under a flickering street lamp.

Joseph furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of the discovery. “So…cholera…”

“Cholera is water-borne,” John finished for him.

“My _god_.”

“I hope this is going to make a difference.”

“I think,” Joseph started, tone brimming with pride, “that you, John Snow, are amazing. And I think you’re going to save a lot of people. Goodnight, my love.” Joseph pressed a gentle kiss on John’s hand before they went their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while rereading this I realised that joseph touching the door and staring at it like a sad puppy is pretty much a 19th century version of ‘do you want to build a snowman?’ and now I can’t think about that part of the chapter without laughing.


	10. Snazalgette: One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow that title sounded sinister but i promise there's no character death, i was merely quoting ariana grande in an attempt to be humorous.
> 
> *tiny rainbow emoji here*

_A month later._

It was the middle of the night. All was still. Except, of course, for John Snow throwing rocks at Joseph Bazalgette’s window.

“Joe,” he hissed. “ _Joe_.”

Joseph dragged himself to the doorway, where John was stood waiting. “John,” he mumbled, voice grazed with sleepiness, “it’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“It is, isn’t it?” John exclaimed, smiling up at the night sky as if it were a great phenomenon that he could never get bored of.

“You know I appreciate punctuality—”

“I do.”

“But don’t you think three o’clock in the morning is a little…excessive?”

John tapped his chin thoughtfully. Then, resolved, he said, “Nope. So, are we ready?”

It took Joseph a moment to process the sentence. He was barely convinced this wasn’t all just a dream. “I’m wearing pyjamas.”

“Excellent! Thou who refuses to leave the house wearing pyjamas is destined to a lifetime of boredom.”

“Is this common knowledge?”

“Yes, you learn it right after bible studies.”

“Ah.”

“Honestly, Joseph. I thought you valued your education.”

Joseph said, “Let me write a note to tell Maria that I’ve gone. I’ll be there in a moment.” He went to close the door, but stopped. “I feel bad closing the door on you.”

“I’ll survive.”

Joseph sighed. “I still feel bad.”

“We don’t have all day.”

“The sun hasn’t even risen yet!”

John said, “I’ll wait for you here. Now hurry up.”

***

Joseph returned to the door with shoes in hand. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet.” John chuckled to himself.

“Something good happened,” Joseph realised, smiling. John’s happiness was contagious, in the best possible way.

Nodding eagerly, John took out a letter from his coat pocket. He unfolded it and showed it to Joseph. They started walking as John explained, “It’s from the local authorities. After they removed the Broad Street pump handle last month, the cholera cases in Soho have dropped like a brick.” His eyes glistened, crystals of kind-hearted beauty.

“Oh my lord.” Joseph spun John around in a euphoric circle as his voice broke down with pride. “I knew it, I _knew_ you could prove it!” He hugged John and held him close for as long as he dared, all too aware of their whereabouts. “John, we need to celebrate!”

“Where should we go?”

“Train station.”

“Any reason?”

Joseph paused, before admitting, “I don’t know…but it just sounds so reckless, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I seem what you mean.”

The station wasn’t too far away but they had to sprint to make the early train.

As they ran, hand in hand in dark streets where they could risk it, it felt like they were conquering the world. The moon shimmered above them with a fond gaze. Their feet hit the ground clumsily, without a care in the world. They knew they would be back before nightfall that evening, but that didn’t matter. To them, this moment would last forever.

The train doors were beginning to close by the time Joseph and John clattered up the steps to the platform.

“Wait!” called Joseph. His lungs felt as if they could burst, but it was suddenly very important to him that they got on that train.

“Tickets?” asked the train conductor.

John and Joseph looked at each other. They were still catching their breath, but the train was about to leave. It was now or never.

“Hello,” said John, warmly.

Immediately, the conductor sighed. “You don’t have tickets?” They had no chance of going back to get tickets before the train left.

“No, but see—”

“Look, there really isn’t time.” The conductor walked towards the last open door on the train.

But then he turned around. “Wait,” he thought to himself, pointing at John. “Are you…?”

John turned to Joseph, bewildered. No one had ever recognised him before, and even then, the odds of the reaction being a pleasant one were low. John may have practically eliminated the cholera in Soho with his discovery that the Broad Street water was contaminated, but that apparently wasn’t enough evidence for the general public. They thought his theory was absurd, but it didn’t bother him much.

“I’m John Snow,” he said.

The conductor became suddenly very still. “My sister,” he said, “she lives opposite Broad Street.”

Joseph watched with wide eyes.

“She survived the cholera outbreak there. I think your theory is a little ridiculous, if I’m being honest—”

“Don’t speak to him like that,” interrupted Joseph.

The conductor’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Then he said, “The point is, I don’t want to eliminate the possibility that because of you getting the pump removed, my sister survived. I don’t know whether or not your theory is correct, but I feel like I have to let you on this train—just in case you saved my sister’s life.”

And then he stepped aside.

“And who are you?” he asked, as Joseph passed.

Joseph winced. He had a miserable reputation as well, thanks to the lack of progress made in his sewer redesigning, but nonetheless answered, “Joseph Bazalgette.”

“Oh,” said the conductor, giving him a strange look as he realised Joseph was wearing pyjamas.

 _The press are going to have a field day_ , Joseph thought to himself, holding back a laugh.

John led the way to a quiet part of the train. It wasn’t too difficult to find, considering there was only one other person onboard.

They sat down opposite each other. John watched the green blitz past the window as the train sped ahead.

A couple of minutes into their journey, the train conductor walked into their compartment. “Do you want any food?”

“What do you have?” asked Joseph, getting out his wallet.

“Bread.”

“Bread?” echoed Joseph.

“It’s three a.m., were you expecting a five-course meal?” asked the conductor, his words dripping with sarcasm. Clearly not a morning person. He sighed and dragged himself back down the train after Joseph politely declined.

John said, “You know, your surname is a lot like ‘baguette’.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said your surname looks a lot like ‘baguette'.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“John, how long have you been awake?”

John thought for a moment. “I didn’t.”

“You…didn’t?”

“I didn’t sleep.”

Joseph sighed. “Get some sleep, John.”

“Now?”

“Please.”

As John lent his head against the window, Joseph asked, “John?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“What’s ‘baguette’?”

John sat upright again. “You haven’t heard of baguettes?” he asked, refraining from jumping out his seat.

“I have not.”

“A baguette is a long kind of bread in France.”

“Oh.”

Still smiling, John closed his eyes and settled down to sleep. “Wake me up when we’re there,” he mumbled.

“When we’re where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Goodnight, John,” Joseph whispered, stroking John’s hair away from his face.

***

When John was gently awoken, it took him a moment to remember where he was—and why exactly Joseph was still wearing pyjamas.

Everything flooded back in a wave of euphoria.

“Ready?” asked Joseph, holding out his hand to John.

John took it, though it broke his heart to let go again when they got off the train.

It was still dark out, but the sun would be rising soon. They wandered away from the station without a destination in mind, merely looking for a quiet place to sit.

It wasn’t too long before they happened to come across a small park, much like the one where they had met. A slim pavement weaved around the stretches of grass, leading them up to a bench. It overlooked a pond so fragile it seemed that the smallest ripple could shatter it to pieces.

John grinned at Joseph, wearing his checked pyjamas. “I can’t believe you let me drag you halfway across London wearing pyjamas.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to live a boring life.”

“I doubt you’re at risk of that.”

“Because I’ve got you.” He nudged John, taking his hand and holding on to it.

“For life, Joe?” whispered John.

“Yes.” Joseph blinked, eyes glassy with happiness. “For life. For life, John, I promise.”

John shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around Joseph’s shoulders to keep him warm.

“I have something for you,” said Joseph, reaching into his shirt pocket to retrieve a book with a maroon cover.

“ _Joe_ ,” said John, as Joseph put it into his hands. That must have been what Joseph had rescued from the pawnbrokers all those weeks ago. “You got the book.”

“It’s yours now.”

Putting the book aside on the bench, John asked, “Dance with me?”

The park was still deserted, so Joseph tangled his fingers with John’s and pulled him to his feet.

He spun John around in a circle, drawing him close against his chest. They danced slowly then, and time stood still for them.

“My god, you’re a horrible dancer,” said Joseph, breaking into laughter as John stepped on his feet for the third time in the past minute.

John sighed, un-burying his head from Joseph’s shoulder to say, “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” John agreed, “I don’t.”

Joseph Bazalgette and John Snow exchanged a smile as the sunrise bathed them in an ethereal auburn glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know what to call this. Is it a fanfic? Can I just call it a ‘thing that’s Mildly historically accurate in some places (okay so the only historically accurate parts were things i was too lazy to make up myself, e.g. the names of Bazalgette’s wife and one his daughters)’? I forgot what my point was. Oh yeah. This happened. What's done is done. Can’t wait to reread this in twenty years-time (if it still exists on the internet) and try to figure out whether or not i was taking this seriously.


End file.
